tarnished my past joys. Since then I have felt myself humiliated
in you,--you whom I thought the most honorable of men, as you are
the most
loving, the most tender. I must indeed have deep
confidence in your heart, so young and pure, to make you this
avowal which costs me much. Ah! my dear love, how is it that you,
knowing your father had unjustly deprived others of their
property, that YOU can keep it?
"'And you told me of this
criminal act in a room filled with the
mute witnesses of our love; and you are a gentleman, and you think
yourself noble, and I am yours! I try to find excuses for you; I
do find them in your youth and thoughtlessness. I know there is
still something of the child about you. Perhaps you have never
thought
seriously of what fortune and
integrity are. Oh! how your
laugh wounded me. Reflect on that ruined family, always in
distress; poor young girls who have reason to curse you daily; an
old father
saying to himself each night: "We might not now be
starving if that man's father had been an honest man--"'"
"Good heavens!" cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, interrupting his
nephew,
"surely you have not been such a fool as to tell that woman about your
father's affair with the Bourgneufs? Women know more about
wasting a
fortune than making one."
"They know about
integrity. But let me read on, uncle."
"'Octave, no power on earth has authority to change the principles
of honor. Look into your
conscience and ask it by what name you
are to call the action by which you hold your property.'"
The
nephew looked at the uncle, who lowered his head.
"'I will not tell you all the thoughts that
assail me; they can be
reduced to one,--this is it: I cannot respect the man who,
knowingly, is smirched for a sum of money,
whatever the
amount may
be; five francs
stolen at play or five times a hundred thousand
gained by a legal trick are
equallydishonoring. I will tell you
all. I feel myself degraded by the very love which has hitherto
been all my joy. There rises in my soul a voice which my
tenderness cannot
stifle. Ah! I have wept to feel that I have more
conscience than love. Were you to
commit a crime I would hide you
in my bosom from human justice, but my
devotion could go no
farther. Love, to a woman, means
boundless confidence, united to a
need of reverencing, of
esteeming, the being to whom she belongs.
I have never conceived of love
otherwise than as a fire in which
all noble feelings are purified still more,--a fire which develops
them.
"'I have but one thing else to say: come to me poor, and my love
shall be redoubled. If not,
renounce it. Should I see you no more,
I shall know what it means.
"'But I do not wish, understand me, that you should make
restitution because I urge it. Consult your own
conscience. An act
of justice such as that ought not to be a sacrifice made to love.
I am your wife and not your
mistress, and it is less a question of
pleasing me than of inspiring in my soul a true respect.
"'If I am
mistaken, if you have ill-explained your father's
action, if, in short, you still think your right to the property
equitable (oh! how I long to
persuade myself that you are
blameless), consider and decide by listening to the voice of your
conscience; act
wholly and
solely from yourself. A man who loves a
woman
sincerely, as you love me, respects the
sanctity of her
trust in him too deeply to
dishonor himself.
"'I blame myself now for what I have written; a word might have
sufficed, and I have preached to you! Scold me; I wish to be
scolded,--but not much, only a little. Dear, between us two the
power is yours--you alone should
perceive your own faults.'"
"Well, uncle?" said Octave, whose eyes were full of tears.
"There's more in the letter; finish it."
"Oh, the rest is only to be read by a lover," answered Octave,
smiling.
"Yes, right, my boy," said the old man,
gently. "I have had many
affairs in my day, but I beg you to believe that I too have loved, 'et
ego in Arcardia.' But I don't understand yet why you give lessons in
mathematics."